His father had always called him impulsive, and without knowing it, the old man would be proven right yet again. Dan knew this necklace should belong to his mother; it was rightfully hers just like all those other symbols of his father's misplaced affection for Stepmother One, Stepmother Two, and now, Stepmother Three.
So many dollars, euro, and yen had been wasted on conniving women half his father's age. Much had been taken, but the discarded wives hadn't left with all their jewels; Dan had quietly seen to that. It was almost a shame that he'd become so good at theft, since he certainly didn't need the money.
Three had called Dan to brag drunkenly about the honeymoon in Venice, and it was likely she'd forget that she'd made the call. Well, Dan should have known his father would choose the villa. After Three had dropped her phone and the connection, Dan had made his own call, for a First Class ticket the following afternoon.
Impulsive, yes, but Dan could be patient as well. He'd waited until he'd seen them tuck themselves into the silver convertible and back out of the garage. Then, worming his way into the villa had been too easy--not much of challenge at all.
Now Dan stood in the sun by the bureau, briefly considering his fate as the second son of a wealthy but stereotypically cruel financier. Views of the Grand Canal were all well and good, but at what price? What had been taken from Dan and his mother was great, and his frequent thefts were really only a small way to take something back. Things were suspected but never proven; stepmothers fretted and complained.
Dan worked the seed pearls with his fingers, rubbed with his thumb the form of a monkey wrought in gold. Then he let the necklace dangle, almost drop from his grasp, but he wouldn't let go. Gripped tightly again, the necklace was shoved into Dan's pocket as he turned toward the door.
